


The Sleeping Beauty in the Smoke

by kirargent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1296892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirargent/pseuds/kirargent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm ten," Cas says, solemn.</p><p>"Wow," Dean whispers. He glances back at his parents again, and looks to the front to see that Ruby's taken Bobby's place by the basinet.</p><p>"How old are you?" Cas asks after a moment. When Dean doesn't answer right away, he frowns and adds, "And what's your name?"</p><p>"Dean," Dean says, "and I'm eight."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Charles Perrault's retelling of Basile's "Sun, Moon, and Talia," which was titled "The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood" (or "The Beauty Sleeping in the Wood")
> 
> Disney adapted Perrault's retelling, and this story is a loose combination of the two, with additional liberties taken so that it runs a little closer to canon-parallel
> 
> happy birthday to [Bella](http://profoundbondmates.tumblr.com)!
> 
> written for [deancasweek](http://deancasweek.tumblr.com)

Dean swings his legs out in front of him, frowning as he kicks at the empty air. Ceremonies suck. He has to sit in a fancy chair off to the side while Mom and Dad sit in the big thrones. He's not allowed to talk. And today, he doesn't even have baby Sammy with him, because Sammy's in the crib at the center of everyone's attention.

Bobby steps back after bestowing his gift, and Dean huffs out a quiet sigh. After Bobby there are three more fairies and Dad's speech before they can eat, and the only thing that might be worse than the boredom is the hunger starting to ache in Dean's tummy. A distraction would be awesome, right about now.

Dean peeks at his parents before leaning towards the boy sitting to his left. "Hey," he whispers, as quietly as he can. "What's your name?"

The boy looks up with, wide, wide blue eyes - bluer than the royal blue of the formal tunic he's wearing. "I'm not supposed to talk during the christening," he whispers back.

Dean grins. "Me neither," he admits. He tilts sideways to nudge the boy's shoulder with his own, even though the distance between their chairs makes it quite a lean. "What's your name?" he repeats.

"Castiel," the boy says.

Dean scrunches up his face. "Gonna call you Cas," he decides. "How old are you?"

Blue eyes blink slowly at Dean. "I'm ten," Cas says, solemn.

"Wow," Dean whispers. He glances back at his parents again, and looks to the front to see that Ruby's taken Bobby's place by the basinet.

"How old are you?" Cas asks after a moment. When Dean doesn't answer right away, he frowns and adds, "And what's your name?"

"Dean," Dean says, "and I'm eight." He tries to eye Cas discreetly in his peripherals, but can't tell what he makes of that information. "Why are you here?" he asks, giving up on reading Cas.

"My sister is to marry Prince Samuel."

Dean stifles a snort. Barely. "My brother's still a baby, you know."

Cas nods. "I know. So is my sister."

Dean puffs out his cheeks. "Awesome," he says, for lack of anything better. He rolls his lips into his mouth and watches his feet dangle above the floor. He casts a quick look to Cas's feet; they touch the ground.

Ruby sits down, and Pamela stands. Dean suppresses another sigh.

"Hey, Cas?" 

"Hmm?"

"D'you wanna sit by me at the feast?"

Cas squints, eyes roving over Dean's face. "I don't think that's allowed, Dean."

"So?" Dean grins.

Cas starts to say something, but Dean will never know what it was, because the taller boy on Cas's other side lays a hand on his knee and says "Keep quiet, Castiel."

Cas looks at Dean apologetically.

"It's okay," Dean mouths.

He turns his attention back to the ceremony just as Pamela takes her seat and Mom and Dad stand up and - and that's not supposed to happen, is it? Dean was thinking about dinner instead of paying attention to the ceremony plans, but he's pretty sure the big entry doors weren't supposed to slam open like that. Wind gusts into the hall, the windows rattling and the doors banging over and over into the walls. It's dark outside by now, the rich blackness of the night swallowing up the edges of the light from the hall. A quick glance at Cas shows that he's watching the open doorway with eyes as wide as Dean's, his hands clutching the sides of his chair so hard his knuckles turn white.

"Hey," Dean whispers, and pries Cas's right hand from the chair to squeeze it tightly. Cas squeezes back. His face is pale. Dean looks back to the doorway to see a woman walking in, calm and serene even with the wind ruffling her curled golden hair and making her white dress flutter around her ankles.

"Mary," she says, smile wide. Her voice is sickly-sweet. Dean watches the color drain from Mom's face.

"Lilith," she says curtly.

Lilith smiles wider. "Another boy, I see."

Mary nods, lips pressed together.

"And you forgot to invite me to his christening?" She lets out a soft tut. "How uncharacteristically rude!" She looks amused about everything, smiling pleasantly at everyone, but the air seems sharp-edged with danger.

"We didn't forget."

Dean's eyes snap back towards his mom, who's fixing Lilith with a level stare, hard-jawed and serious.

"Oh!" Dean looks to Lilith again as she claps and giggles. "You ignored me intentionally?"

Mary doesn't say anything. Dean thinks he's probably hurting Cas's hand with how tightly he's holding it, but Cas doesn't complain. He's squeezing pretty tight, too.

"Well," Lilith says. She wanders towards Sammy's crib, anyone in her path rushing to step aside. "Such a slight demands some sort of... retaliation, don't you think?" She smiles at Mary, nods to a couple people amidst the crowd. She stands at the head of the crib, and her hand dips toward Sammy. Cas tugs at his hand, but Dean's already halfway out of his chair.

"What are you doing?!" he yells. Lilith spares him a quick look and a light laugh before Cas pulls him back into his seat, and she doesn't answer.

"Hello, Sam," she coos. Dean bites down on the side of his mouth and grips Cas's hand so hard that Cas lets out a soft gasp.

"Sorry," Dean mutters. He loosens his hand enough for Cas to pull away if he wants to, but Cas just squeezes a little and shakes his head. Still, Dean's careful not to break Cas's fingers, even when Lilith lifts Sammy out of the crib.

She whispers something to him, and Sam lets free a happy gurgle, and Dean feels like he might throw up.

The hall is so silent that even though she barely raises her voice, everyone can hear her words clearly when she says, "Looks like I owe you a present, huh Sam?"

Dean's heart forces its way up into his throat.

Lilith turns to face the twin thrones at the end of the hall, cradling Sam in her arms. "You will grow up smart, and gentle, and clear-thinking -" she nods to Bobby, Jess and Pamela, respectively "- but before midnight on your sixteenth birthday, you will prick your finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel -" she pauses, and Dean doesn't think that sounds too bad. Not a great christening present - kinda weird, actually - but not that awful.

But Lilith finishes her sentence "- and  _die_." and dread settles, cold, in the pit of Dean's stomach. He's frozen for a moment, watching Lilith return Sam to his crib, and then his legs are moving before his brain catches up, lifting him out of his chair.

Again, he doesn't get far before Cas tugs him back down. The gathered crowd watches in disbelieving silence as Lilith sweeps from the room, her long dress flowing in harsh ripples as she disappears into the howling night.

After a weighted moment of quiet, whispers explode around the hall, flurries of small motion breaking the stillness.

"Are you okay?"

Dean stares at Sammy, tiny in his crib, defenseless and guiltless and utterly undeserving of such a cruel curse.

"Dean? Are you okay?"

Turning to meet Cas's worried eyes, Dean realizes he's shaking from head to toe.

"I'm... No, I'm not, I'm..." Dean shakes his head and sucks in a shuddery breath. "I need to - I have to -" he mumbles, and takes off into the crowd, wiping his sweaty hand on his pants as he goes. " 'scuse me - hey, can I get through - thank you - let me through..." The anxious crowd is on its feet now, making Dean push and shove his way through, hoping he's going in the right direction when all he can see is a lot of legs.

He breaks through with a quiet gasp, and then he's rushing to pick up Sammy, spinning around to search for Mom and Dad. He doesn't see them, but he sees Cas standing on his chair to look at him with big, scared eyes, and he sees Bobby and the other fairies trying to ease people back into their seats. It's slow going, but eventually the crowd sinks back into an uneasy silence, settled restlessly in their chairs. Dad comes forward to rest a hand on Dean's shoulder, and Mom detours to talk with the fairies. Dean stares down at Sammy and blinks hard, because he doesn't want to cry in front of all these people.

"We can fix it, right Dad?"

Aw, damn it. His voice sounds all thick and choked like he's gonna cry. Which he's  _not_.

"Right, Dad?" he repeats, twisting to look up at Dad's reassuring, manly beard.

"He'll be okay, Dean. Your mom is convincing the fairies to help."

Dean looks hopefully to the fairies, but all he sees is a lot of shaking heads. "Only one gift," he hears Pamela say.

"Hey, Sam. Sammy. You're gonna be all right, okay?" Dean tries his very hardest to keep his voice steady, and he bounces Sam in his arms because Sam always likes that.

Finally, Mom comes to stand with them. She soothes one hand through Dean's hair, and she rests the other on Sam's tiny arm. Dean leans gratefully into her warmth. Together, they watch as the seventh of the good fairies steps forward, thick-strapped black dress hanging close to the lines of her body.

"I still have a gift to give," she says.

The Fairy of the Roads - her gift is probably "swiftness of foot" or something unhelpful like that. Dean rocks backs and forth from his heels to his toes, restless eyes darting between Sam and the fairy.

Her voice is quiet, but clear, pure tones ringing around the hall for everyone to hear. "I cannot undo the curse," she begins, and Dean's stomach drops down to his toes. She hesitates. "I could… _shift_ it,” she says, but she’s already shaking her head, dismissing the idea, “but that would require someone else to bear the weakened curse, and that’s not -” she shakes her head some more. “I cannot help. I’m truly sorry.” She looks away, eyes downcast.

Dean finds an intense frown settling on his face, and before anyone else can speak up, he jumps in. “Hang on, what do you mean? Someone else could… someone else could take the curse?”

The fairy’s eyes flick back up. She stares at him in silence for a heavy moment, then glances briefly over his shoulder at Mom. “It’s… possible, yes.”

She pauses, staring at the royal family with an alarming amount of sadness. Mom's hand continues its steady motions through Dean’s hair; he tries to focus on that instead of the pity in the fairy's eyes.

“The curse could be transferred, and it would be weakened in the process - but you must understand, Lilith’s magic would still be powerful. Not death at midnight, but sleep. Eternal sleep, incurable except by True Love’s Kiss.”

Dean frowns. The Fairy of the Roads gives him a regretful smile, small and tight.

"Do you understand, young prince?"

Slowly, Dean nods his head, clutching Sammy closer to his chest. “I think so,” he mumbles. “So, you just need - you just need somebody else to take it, right?”

“Prince -” the fairy starts, and “Dean -” his mom begins, but Dean looks down at Sammy, draws in a careful breath, and says, “I’ll do it.”

Mom's hand goes still on his head.

Noise ripples through the crowd, hushed but unmissable.

Dean notices that Cas is standing on his chair again, the tall boy next to him tugging on his sleeve.

The fairy is looking at Mom again, a sort of guilt-ridden apology in her eyes. "Are you sure, Prince Dean?"

Dean nods. "Yeah. 'm sure."

Mom's soft hair brushes his shoulder as she leans down. "Sweetie, you don't have to do this," she breathes, quiet, just to him.

"I know," Dean says back. "I want to. Sammy's gonna be an awesome king."

He feels Mom's forehead rest on his shoulder for just a moment, and then she pulls away with a bitten-back sigh. “Dean, if you do this…” She stops, like those words are so hard to choke out that she has to take a deep breath before she can go on; but her voice is clear as she continues. “There won’t be a way out of this. We’ve raised you to make your own choices, to consider things with the objectivity of a good ruler, but Dean… Do you get it? That if you make this decision now, you can’t take it back later?”

“I know, Mom.”

She rubs a hand up and down his arm, quick and agitated. "Okay," she whispers. “Okay. It's your choice,” she says, but it sounds like it pains her to say it.

He turns to wrap one arm around her in the closest thing he can manage to a hug while holding Sammy. Her arms come around him, hands pressing tight to his back as her warmth surrounds him. His eyes sting, but he’s not gonna cry, damn it.

He turns back with a quick sniff and a curt nod. "I'm ready," he says to the fairy, who nods to him and places a slim hand on Sam's forehead. Leaning down to Dean's height, she fixes him with another mournful smile. "You're very brave," she tells him. Something hard blocks Dean's throat, and swallowing doesn't help. "It's very noble of you to place your brother before yourself." Dean scrounges up a weak smile. "You would've made a great ruler," she whispers, and ghosts her lips against his forehead.

Streaks of cold shoot down Dean's spine and all the way out to his fingers and toes, burning icy-hot for one second, two - and then they're gone. The fairy is standing again. Dean looks up at her, wide-eyed. "Did you do it?" he asks, and his voice comes out thin and broken. He clears his throat. "Did it work?"

The fairy nods. Should he be relieved? Disappointed? A tiny Sammy-hand clutches at the front of his green ceremony clothes. Dean finds himself smiling, just a little. Relieved, then. He's relieved.

"Thank you," he mumbles, as the fairy steps back with one last bittersweet smile.

Mom's hand drifts from his head to his shoulder, anchored as she turns away to talk with Dad in lowered voices.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean whispers, bouncing the soft bundle of blanket and boy in his arms. Sam pats at his chest, fingers curling and uncurling in spasms. Dean gives him a finger to hold, and he squeals with glee. "You're gonna be okay, little brother," Dean soothes, smiling down at Sam's wide, toothless grin.

The ceremony continues on, albeit not quite as planned. Dad's speech is just a decree banning spinning wheels from the land, and they add in a long moment of silence to honor Dean's sacrifice.

Dean, who's now allowed to stand up front, just behind Dad, doesn't pay attention to any of it. Sam squirms in his arms, then calms, mouth lax and open as he falls asleep. Drool tracks from the corner of his mouth towards Dean's fancy clothes, and Dean doesn't stop it. Most of it gets caught in Sam's blanket, anyway.

A guiding hand lands on Dean's back, Mom's soft murmur of small talk soothing as they make their way to the dining hall. Ellen hurries to intercept them, taking Sam to lay him down for his nap while everyone eats.

Dad doesn't make his standard speech before dinner, either, he just claps his big hands together and says, "Dig in!"

Dean piles his plate with roasted turkey and mashed potatoes, dumps gravy over everything, and sneaks out of the dining hall to sit by himself on the hallway floor. He'd go eat by Sammy, but Ellen would whack him with a towel for interrupting his nap.

The floor is cold. The gravy is rich, but it mostly just makes Dean's stomach turn. He pokes at his turkey with a fork, not eating any.

"Dean?"

The voice is small, or Dean wouldn't have bothered looking up. Listening to another adult he doesn't know rattle on about how generous he is doesn't sound appealing.

It's not an unknown adult; it's Cas.

"Oh, hey," Dean mumbles.

Cas hesitates. "Can I sit by you?" He's holding a plate in each hand, and a thick, familiar smell twists toward Dean's nose.

"Dude, did you bring me pie? Heck yes, you can sit with me!"

Cas smiles at him as he sits, holding out the plate with the bigger slice of pumpkin pie. Dean _mmm_ s happily around his first mouthful and sets his real food down on the floor.

Their forks click on the nice banquet plates as they devour Ellen's Special Occasion Pumpkin Pie, and Dean scrapes up every smear of sticky sugar he can get before settling back against the wall, patting his stomach.

"Thanks," he murmurs.

Cas nods, licking his fork clean. "That was delicious," he says.

"Really yummy," Dean agrees.

They sit without speaking for a while, letting the loud noise of people chattering and silverware clinking waft from the dining hall to fill the silence.

"My brother says what you did was really brave," Cas says eventually, squinting at the air like it's a complex problem he's trying to figure out.

Dean shrugs.

"You'll fall asleep," Cas reminds him. " _Forever_."

Again, Dean shrugs. "I'm not scared. It won't be so bad, anyway, 'cause it's not really forever. Just until someone kisses me."

"I don't understand the big deal about kissing," Cas admits, staring at the floor as Dean stares at him. "My brother says I'll get it when I'm older, but I don't know." The corner of his mouth twitches with something that might be irritation, but it's too subtle to tell.

Dean snorts. "Man, they really got to you with all that princely etiquette stuff, huh?"

Cas doesn't say anything, and Dean frowns.

"I'm not sure I get it, either." It's not quite a whisper, but his voice is quiet.

Cas looks up, meeting Dean's eyes, his own still narrowed thoughtfully.

"Hey, Cas?"

Cas squints at him for another long moment. His eyes are so blue that the color is still obvious, even when they're not wide open like they were before. Finally, he says "Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Oh, now Cas's eyes are wide again. Wide and very, very blue. His tongue peeks out to wet his lips, which Dean notices are a very delicate shade of pink.

He nods.

Dean puts his pie plate on the floor with a pronounced  _clack_ and turns to face Cas, wiggling to his knees for better balance when he leans in. _  
_

As it turns out, Cas has very soft lips. They press against Dean's, hesitant but warm, _alive_. Giddy excitement makes Dean feel shaky, but he rests one hand on Cas's arm, smiling when Cas jumps but doesn't pull away.

It's a short kiss, because Dean has no idea what he's doing and Cas doesn't seem to either, but Dean's grinning by the time they pull apart. He smacks his lips a couple times, loud and dramatic. "Well? How'd you like it?"

Cas is staring at him with wide, wide eyes. A common expression for him, apparently.

"I thought it was sorta cool," Dean says when Cas doesn't answer, "but I'm still not sure I get it."

Cas's eyes narrow back into a confused squint.

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Hey, you okay?"

"Oh, yes, I..." Cas shakes his head, and when he looks at Dean again, it's with his lips curved up into a slight smile. "Yes, that was..." He takes a moment to ponder. "Enjoyable," he decides.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> betad by [eliawinters](http://eliawinters.tumblr.com) <3 <3

_I can't believe I'm doing this_ , Castiel thinks.

The day is warm, but the air is cool where it touches his face and his hands, rushing with the slight afternoon breeze and the travel of his horse. The only sounds come from the horse's hooves thudding steadily on the dirt road, and the gentle wind brushing the leaves of the roadside trees. There's no one else down the long, flat road as far as Castiel can see, leaving everything but the wind quiet and still.

Castiel squeezes his legs around his horse's sides, urging it faster along the deserted road to the Castle Winchester. The silence is more unsettling than it is peaceful, and he finds himself casting wary glances behind himself with every several miles. By all means, it's a gorgeous autumn day, with the leaves just turning, still on the trees, and the air crisp and clear - but something is...  _off_. Castiel presses his heels in against the horse's sides and leans forward for better speed.

It feels like hours before the castle looms up in front of him, and he spends most of the journey railing against Anna under his breath. She's the one who sneaks out of the castle at night to lay in the dew-soaked grass and stare up at the stars; she's the one who arrives home late after a day of God-knows-what with twigs tangled in her hair and dirt smudged on her fair cheeks - Castiel is the one who fills his hours with etiquette classes and the study of history and political workings, and who spends the rest of his time thoughtfully in his quarters.  _She's_ the adventurous one, not him. So how did he end up on this ridiculous journey?

Oh that's right. He's here because Anna is persuasive beyond her fourteen years, and because he once made the mistake of telling her about his persistent, hopeless affection towards the elder Winchester prince. Which really, he can’t be blamed for. With Anna’s engagement to Prince Samuel, Castiel has spent a fair amount of time visiting the Winchesters, sent along as Anna’s chaperone. Of course, Anna is impossible to chaperone, and the visits often found Castiel and Dean together, wandering the grounds or riding horses or splashing around in the lake to cool off. Dean jumped in naked, once. Castiel had refused to follow suit, but it’s an afternoon he’s likely never to forget.

He stopped going along after he turned eighteen.

It’s been three years since he’s been here, and the gates are open when Castiel arrives. At home, that would be strange, but the Winchesters have always had a more open castle than his own family has. It's not unusual. But the utter lack of anyone nearby as they clop through is unnerving.

The stables are near the entrance, just to the left, so maybe it's not as weird as it feels that he sees no one before dropping to the ground and guiding his horse inside. There's no one in the stables, either. It's only thanks to years of princely behavior lessons that his face is controlled and blank, rather than set in a deep frown.

"Hello?" he calls. The horses in their stalls all appear to be sleeping, so he keeps his voice low. Although, why are they sleeping while the sun is still high in the sky? "Is anyone here?" he tries, leading his horse to an empty stall and freeing her of the saddle. No one responds. The horse snuffles at his shoulder before he leaves, and he strokes her neck. "Thank you," he says to her, still quiet, then ventures back out to the vast castle grounds.

 _"They've got him tucked away in some spare bedroom on the top floor,"_   Anna had said.  _"He's been out for going on three years now - been kissed by loads of girls, but he's still asleep."_ Castiel sets his shoulders with steely determination and heads for the castle.

He doesn't run into anyone as he crosses the stretch of grass that connects the stables to the main castle, but by this point he's not surprised. Something strange is going on.

"Hello?"

His voice bounces off the stone walls, is muffled by the hanging tapestries, and floats back to his own ears thin and disjointed.

Every time Castiel's family had come to visit his sister's husband-to-be, this castle had been full to bursting with children's laughter and the patter of their feet, with idle conversation and pleasant small talk, with people and color and joy and life - and now, it's as silent as if no one had ever set foot within its walls, as still as if not even the animals dare enter.

"Hello?" Castiel calls again, but again there's no answer.

All right, then. Dean is supposedly "tucked away on the top floor," so the wisest way to go would be up. Castiel's boots clap on the stone floor and echo around the hall, loud and jarring amidst the peculiar quiet.

He hasn't crossed even half the room when it begins to grow dark. It's rapid, nothing natural, like the curtains have all at once been drawn over the windows behind him, or like the sun has been partially blotted out.

The silence that falls when he stops walking is overwhelming, pressing in on him from all sides.

When he doesn't move, the darkness creeps forwards, and he can see the culprit now: it's smoke, thick and black, covering the walls and windows like discolored insulation. Hand falling to his sword, he watches it spread, edges reaching like long, long fingers to line the entire hall.

Castiel closes his eyes, taking a deep, quiet breath. He wraps a hand around the hilt of his sword, ready to draw as he turns around. One round window on the far wall has been spared, allowing enough just light for Castiel to open his eyes and see:

"Lilith."

She smiles at him, silky-sweet. "I've been expecting you, prince."

"Where is everyone?" Castiel demands.

She chuckles, swinging her hands, at ease within the tomb of roiling black. "They're all taking a little afternoon nap," she says, voice light.

"Wake them up."

"Why would I do that?" she laughs.

Castiel grips his sword tighter, though he’s not sure how much protection it will offer him against her magic. He’d love for her to leave without a fight, but that’s not likely to happen. "Do it," he says, and he keeps his voice forceful despite the nervous twisting of his stomach. "Wake them up, and I'll let you walk out of here alive."

"Oo-hoo! That's quite the threat, young man! Does that boy really mean so much to you?"

Castiel's hand is sweaty on his sword. "Let these people go back to their lives," he says, even and careful.

"And you must be... what, twenty, now? Twenty-one? Your little boyhood crush hasn't aged a day, you know." She gives him a tight smile. "Sweet sixteen, that Dean. You haven’t seen him in years, and you’re still head over heels?" She raises her eyebrows.

"You need to leave," Castiel says, firm and rough.

"No, I don't think I will," she chirps, and she's laughing again as, with an easy flick of her hand, the smoke billows up and over the final window, soaking the room in complete darkness. The smoke seems to expand, filling the hall, filling Castiel's nose, his mouth, his lungs, his chest, whooshing as it moves past him. He can feel its motion, despite not being able to see a thing.

If he's blind... is Lilith? If she can't see him either, he could slip up the stairs on quiet feet, maybe find Dean before she knows he's gone. His pulse is already racing with alarm, and hope speeds it further. He could get out of this without a fight. She couldn’t curse him, or kill him, he could get to Dean… surely, if he can just reach Dean, everything will be okay.

"I assure you, I know where you are," Lilith's voice says from the darkness. Fear claws at Castiel’s heart. Can she read minds? He doesn't have time to ponder, because something  _cold_ rushes past his left ear, and he twists towards it, his sword drawn in one smooth motion.

"How can you see me?" he calls, keeping his voice steady and unafraid. If he can get her talking, he can find her.

"Magic. Through the smoke."

Castiel flexes his fingers and tightens his hold on the sword. "Why did you put all these people to sleep?"

A laugh this time, bright and tinkling, from somewhere to his... right? He turns and starts forwards, even though it seems pointless given the fact that she can track his movement.

"I knew you were coming, Castiel. I'm not cruel! I didn't want any of those lovely people getting caught by a stray swipe of your sword. I'm protecting them!" She's in front of him now, he's fairly sure, and by the sound of it, taking a single step back for each of his forward.

This isn't going to work.

Her magic would put him at a disadvantage even if he could see, and sightless like this, he's so outmatched it's pathetic. He can't win with speed, then, nor strength. Stamina is no good, because even if they're both exhausted, she will still have the upper hand.

But he has to get to Dean. If she's gone to such trouble to stop him, there must be a considerable chance that his kiss will return life to the slumbering prince.

He has to get past her.

"Why are you toying with me?" He halts where he stands and lets his sword dip towards the ground.

Get her talking. Keep a lock on her location.

"Because I find you amusing, young Castiel." She's drifted to the right, still ahead of him.

He holds his position. "It would be easier to kill me and get it over with. Unless you're afraid?" A stupid, stupid tactic, but goading her into attack may be his only option. If it gets her close enough...

"Young,  _childish_  prince," she spits. Her voice is louder, it echoes from the walls, making her location undeterminable. "You think I am afraid? Of  _you_?" Laughter again, gleeful and childlike. The blackness seems to swirl in front of Castiel's eyes, air cold and unpleasant as it whips past him, the smoke churning with energy.

"What are you doing?" he shouts.  _Where are you?_ he thinks.

Her answer is more smoke, inside his mouth, down his throat. It chokes him with icy, incorporeal fingers around his neck and a cloudy stopper in his windpipe.

He can't breathe. He can't speak. He doesn't know where Lilith is, and he doesn't know how he will make it to Dean. He doesn't know how he'll  _survive_.

His vision is pure black, but it seems to grow even darker around the edges, death seeping into his sight. His chest burns, his lungs scream. His fingers buzz with an unpleasant tingle that spikes up his arms. His right hand spasms, and the sword falls. The clatter of its metal on the stone floor is muffled, barely reaching his ears. The tingling buzz morphs into numbness, cold and disconcerting. Painfully, his chest heaves, trying to suck in air where there is none to be found.

This is it, then. He won't see his sister married. He won't ever again see her wild red hair or her careless smile, or the thoughtful smirk that graces her lips when she's planning to talk him into something uncouth. He won't see this castle again. He'll die here, and never again see twinkling green eyes or those soft freckled cheeks. Dean will sleep and sleep and sleep while Anna becomes a part of the Winchester family, and Castiel will not be a part of any of it.

Burning-cold discomfort settles within his ribs, and he's unsure if it's despair, or if he's dying.

He can't feel his feet. His hands and forearms have lost all feeling as well. His head throbs with pain and dizziness, and his chest feels about ready to collapse.

And then it's gone.

Castiel doubles over and wheezes. His lungs are on fire and his throat stings, and the air hurts as it reenters his body. Over the harsh sound of his breathing, he can just hear Lilith's satisfied chuckle.

And she's  _close_. She's  _right there_ , can't be further than five feet away, laughing from just to his right.

He sinks to a crouch. His legs shake. His hands tingle again as the feeling comes back into them. Where is his  _sword_?

"Oh, you're very determined." She's mocking, but she's still close.

She likes taunting him; it could be Castiel's only potential advantage.

He hacks out a rough cough. She chuckles again at its intensity, and that's perfect. She hasn't moved away. As long as she thinks he's down, she'll laugh and tease him with her closeness.

He has one shot.

Gritting his teeth, Castiel skims his palms over the ground, searching, searching... there. He wraps his fingers around the sword's hilt, straightens up - and drops it with a labored gasp when he tries to lift it, his muscles still too shaky to cooperate.

Another giggle. Still close. Just off to the right. Castiel licks his lips and lets his breath grate loudly in and out.

He reaches for his sword with his left hand. She claps softly. "Oh, bravo!" Castiel presses his lips together. He grabs the sword, lets the tip stay on the floor as he gets a grip on the handle.

He allows himself one moment to prepare, making a slightly exaggerated show of struggling to lift the sword as he does.

She's to his right, she's not far. He can do this. He has to do this. And he  _will_ do this, he will defeat Lilith, and he will save Dean, and he will go home and hug his sister. He settles his weight on his left foot. He drags in a painful deep breath. At that, she snorts, and good. He knows where she is. He can do this.

He surges up and out from his left foot, deftly switches the sword from left hand to right, and slashes in the direction she should be. Lilith lets free a startled, pained cry. He's already throwing himself forwards, sword raised and left hand flailing to catch her before she’s gone again.

His hand connects with nothing.

Panic squeezes his lungs; is she still out there, waiting for him in the dark? Or is she…

Castiel shakes his head, gripping his sword so tightly his hand begins to ache. He’s not sure which thought is worse: that she’s still there, or that he killed her.

“L-Lilith?” He swallows, turning in a slow circle, sword dragging through the thick smoke in front of him. “Hello?”

Silence. Cold, complete silence.

The smoke begins to clear.

Castiel’s heart pounds in his throat. He feels dizzy, squinting as light filters through the thinning smoke, brighter and brighter until there’s no trace of the consuming darkness.

There’s also no trace of Lilith.

“Hello?” Castiel calls again. His eyes dart around the hall, ready to focus on any movement.

But there’s nothing.

Castiel’s mouth dips into a frown. His arm is shaking, so he lets the tip of his sword drag along the floor as he turns in a slow, slow circle, panning his gaze around the room and thinking.

What could she hope to accomplish by hiding? If she’s waiting for a chance to attack, she won’t find a much better one than now: he’s still weak from the smoke’s invasion of his lungs, still blinking against the harsh, sudden sunlight, and still out of breath.

Likely not hiding, then.

She fled, maybe. Or… What happens to fairies when they die? Do they disappear?

Castiel’s frown only intensifies as he sheathes his sword, unsettled by the gap in his knowledge; but there’s nothing to be done about it at the moment, so he starts across the hall on legs that feel steadier as he goes, resolving to seek out more information on fairies at another time.

When he reaches the foot of the staircase, he turns to face the broad, empty room. There is no one in sight.

“Hello?” he says anyway, one last time, and winces because now that he’s calmer, he notices the raw burn in his throat as he speaks, hears the rough rasp of his voice.

No one answers his strained call, and he swallows, hoping to soothe his aggravated throat before turning and starting up the stone staircase.

Light streams through high windows and onto the steps, the bright yellow-gold of late afternoon sun. It pokes at Castiel’s eyes as he ascends, making him squint.

Muted clamor drifts through the walls to his ears - everyone is beginning to wake up. Lilith is gone, one way or another, and the temporary sleep she had placed over them is lifted.

Castiel urges his feet as fast as they can go, legs hardly shaking anymore. In all his time spent in this castle, his interactions with the king and queen were limited; he doesn’t know Dean’s parents very well; he doesn’t know if they’ll approve of his attempt to waken the prince, doesn’t know if they’ll even let him try.

Fortune seems to be on his side, today. The kingdom is groggy as it wakes. Their voices are thick and confused through the walls, their movements slow when Castiel sees them as he passes floor after floor.

Christ, how many floors  _are_ there?

The warm ache of exertion infuses Castiel’s legs, not unpleasant, but not pleasant, either. How high is he? He’s climbed… five stories? At least? He puffs out a heavy breath, casting a glance out a chest-height window as he passes. He’s definitely very high.

He must be getting close.

Oh.  _Very_ close.

The dead-end hallway that tops the staircase is short, with two closed doors on each side and a window at the far end, as wide and as tall as the hallway, clear glass offering a spectacular view of the well-tended castle grounds.

Dean is behind one of those doors. Sleeping. Waiting.

Nerve-ridden anticipation thrums through Castiel’s entire body, drying his mouth, spurring on the fast pace of his heart, making his fingers twitch at his sides.

Noise swells from the castle below him. He should do this before someone comes to check on the prince.

He swallows, nervous, as he starts forward, his throat dry and protesting. Selecting the first door on the right, he grasps the handle with a less-than-steady hand and turns it, pressing the door open just enough to peer in.

Crammed with boxes and stray seasonal fabrics, it appears to be a storage room.

The door directly opposite leads to a small library, quaint and bright with a soft-looking red armchair and a little round window to let in the afternoon light and bookshelves of a pale wood. It’s well-kept, the surfaces all clear and free of dust. Castiel can imagine Prince Samuel spending his free hours tucked away near his brother, curled up in that chair with his nose hidden in a book; or the queen choosing a novel and taking it into her son’s room to read beside his bed. Castiel had been sad for Dean when the curse was placed, but had not spared so much thought for the suffering of his family.

If feels heavy, up here. The quiet is thick, if not absolute; the sounds of the woken castle reach his ears from below, but somehow they don’t seem to penetrate the utter stillness of this tiny hallway.

Castiel pushes open the second door to the right; first a crack, then all the way when he sees the corner of a dark-wooded bed.

Castiel stands in the open doorway, staring.

Dean is there. His motionless form has been draped with a single green blanket, his hands folded overtop.

Castiel’s breath is uneven as he enters the room and moves to stand beside Dean’s bed.

He looks the same as when Castiel last saw him, but also unbelievably different, given that Castiel has never before seen him softened by sleep. Freckles still dot his nose and cheeks, unchanged by lack of sun. The skin around his eyes looks softer, almost fragile when it’s not being crinkled with a smile, and his dark lashes stand out, vivid against the softness. His hands rest loose and easy on his chest; they still look strong, but in a more gentle sort of way. And his lips, relaxed, are still dark with color, but they look so  _giving_ , so easy to touch, so soft and willing and - and Castiel has wanted to do this before, wanted it every time Dean laughed, every time he smiled, every time he stared at Castiel for just a little too long, wanted it since he was ten years old but has never given in.

Adrenaline makes him shaky as he leans down.

He balances a hand beside Dean’s head, staring at him from two inches away.

He closes his eyes when he kisses him.

Dean’s mouth is soft, and warm, and so is his cheek when Castiel cups it with his fingers, and it should be wonderful, but it’s… not.

It’s nothing like in Castiel’s imagination, nowhere near as perfect. Dean  _isn’t responding_. What’s beautiful about Dean is his joy, his energy, his  _life_  - kissing Dean’s unresponsive lips is not kissing  _Dean_.

Castiel’s hand drops away from Dean’s face.

Eyes still closed, he pulls back -

and there’s a strong, gentle hand on the back of his neck, guiding him back down. His eyes snap open as Dean leans up, pressing his mouth to Castiel’s. It’s warm, and soft, and Dean is kissing him back, and Castiel can’t do anything but steady himself against the bed and try to keep up.

 _This_ , this is what Castiel wanted, and it’s more perfect than he could’ve imagined. Dean’s fingers tease through the hair at the back of his head, his other hand rising to rest on the side of Castiel’s neck. His lips are insistent, pressed hard against Castiel’s, and Castiel can feel the life surging up through him, connecting them. It fills Dean and Dean shares it with him, warm life and warm lips and warm hands and Castiel is cold when they pull apart. He’s cold for all of one second before warmth ripples through him again at the sight of Dean’s brilliant grin.

He can’t speak, for a moment.

Then he manages to say, “Hello, Dean,” and it comes out quiet, a little broken, but Castiel will blame that on Lilith and her smoke. Dean doesn’t seem to mind; his smile grows, if anything.

“Hey, Cas,” he breathes.

“Dean, it worked, you’re…”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I’m awake, huh?”

Cas just nods, watching as Dean pushes himself up to sit.

“How long have I been out?”

“Three -” Castiel clears his throat “- three years.”

Dean lets out a low whistle, looking away from Castiel for the first time since he opened his eyes. Castiel watches him take in the small room, the blanket, the window, the half-open door.

His eyes shift to Cas again, earnest. “My family - are they - is Sam -?”

“They’re all fine,” Castiel tells him, smiling as he watches relief brighten Dean’s face. He cocks his head towards the door, “They’ll be up soon, I would expect.”

For one moment, Dean’s expression is pure, glowing happiness.

Then he scrunches up his face. “They’re gonna want a ceremony, aren’t they?”

Castiel’s smile feels like it might split his face in two. “I expect so.”

“Aww, man,” Dean groans, arching his back and stretching his arms over his head. “Ceremonies suck.” He swings his legs out of bed, moving slowly, wiggling his toes and looking down at them curiously.

He wobbles when he rises to his feet, and grabs Castiel’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Are you okay?”

Dean looks up from his feet to grin at Castiel. “You kidding? I’m awesome.”

They don’t speak for a moment, just stare at each other.

“Really awesome,” Dean amends. His hand rises to rub at the back of his neck as his gaze returns to his feet, and Castiel immediately misses his eyes. “I was, uh. Kinda hopin’ it would be you,” Dean admits.

Castiel is smiling too wide to reply, and Dean clears his throat loudly, moving on from the moment anyway. He smiles back as he drapes his arm over Castiel’s shoulders, leaning on him and pressing him towards the door.

“Come on, I’m _hungry_ ,” he complains. He flashes Cas another smile as they reach the door, and Castiel’s own legs feel weak. “Maybe we’ll at least get some pie outta this whole thing, huh?”

 

_~The End~_

 


End file.
